My Visit
by rabidcrazygirl
Summary: The longforgotten Charlie Scully pays a visit to his favorite sister and learns a few things about how her life has gone since they last spoke. A bit of MSR thrown in their just to appease myself, since I love it so.
1. Chapter 1

The idea came to me late one night, and is therefore somewhat jumbled and possibly nonsensical. I've just always kind of wondered who the hell Charlie Scully was, and why he never makes an appearance. So here it is, folks, Charlie Scully's debut. Please read and enjoy! And review.

**Disclaimer: fill in the blank. You know the drill.**

I stand about four feet from the door in front of me and study it for any sign of whether or not it is safe to enter. The door, being completely inanimate, made of wood, and therefore incapable of any sort of speech or communication, does not offer any hints. I cough self-consciously. _Charlie,_ I think to myself, _you've put this off for far too long._

I figure that I've been standing here for about seven minutes trying to muster up the courage to make a simple enough motion—I'm trying to work up the nerve to knock on the door. For an inanimate object, it certainly is imposing. The blank wood seems to glare at me, saying "who do you think you are, barging in here after all these years? And no warning of your visit? You're a terrible visitor, and the worst brother in the history of the world!"

I try to push the door's voice to the back of my mind, telling myself that it is absolutely crazy to be considering what a door thinks of me as part of my own personal reality. _Dad would tell me that I'm losing it,_ I think to myself, allowing a slight smile to cross my face. _Hell, Bill would try to throw me out of the house the moment I mentioned it! _ I give my head a shake to try to clear it, and finally knock on the door.

There are only a few seconds between the time when my knock rings out and when the sound of footsteps hurrying to answer it comes echoing out to me. Those few seconds, though, are enough to send a world of possibilities whirling through my skull. _She may not be home. She might be asleep. What if she has a friend over? What she's got a boyfriend living with her? What if she's got a _girlfriend_ living with her? I'm not sure I have the courage to face _her_, let alone a possible significant other!_

But my worries are (partially) assuaged when the door swings open to reveal the startled face of my dear, darling sister. Her blue eyes are wide as she takes me in, and I realize that I must look completely crazy. My conversation with the door has left me feeling (and probably looking) unsettled, my hat is a twisted mess in my hands because I've been crumpling it the whole time that I've been standing out here, and because of the red-eye plane flight, I haven't caught a bit of sleep the night before.

In short, I look like hell.

"Charlie!" she says finally. "What are you doing here?"

I clear my throat and give her a shaky grin. "I've come to visit my sister," I say with a nervous laugh. "It's really been too long since I've last seen her."

"I'll agree with that," Dana replies, nodding slowly. The look on her face is reminiscent of that of a stunned sheep. I can only think that I must look much the same.

Dana blinks and seems to come back to Earth. "Um…come in! Please, come in!"

I obediently follow her into her apartment, my eyes drinking in everything that I see, eager for some insight as to who my sister has turned into since I last seriously talked to her. _Wow,_ I think, as I try to remember the last time I had an actual conversation with my sister. _That would have to be at Missy's funeral. Almost four or five years ago._

_It _has_ been too long._

"Would you like some tea?" Dana's voice jolts me back to the present, and I look up to find my sister poking her head out the door of what must be the kitchen.

"Oh…yeah, sure," I reply, sitting down on one of the sofas in her living room. It's pleasantly soft and bouncy and a wave of fatigue sweeps through me, reminding me that I haven't slept in 31 hours. I feel my eyes begin to slide closed, but I fight the tiredness back. After traveling all this way, I'm not about to give in _just_ yet.

Dana emerges from the kitchen carrying two mugs. Placing one down on the coffee table before me, she regards me over the rim of her own. "So…" she says calmly. "What brings you out here?"

"Like I said," I reply, taking a sip of the deliciously warm liquid. "I haven't seen you in such a long time. A man has the right to visit with his sister, doesn't he?"

"Bill didn't send you, did she?" Dana asks suddenly. I meet her eyes with total bewilderment.

"Why the hell would he do that?"

"He's a bit…resentful of the time I spend away from the family," she replies, fixing her eyes on the coffee table. Her fingers trace an invisible pattern on the fabric of the couch as she considers her next words. "My work…my partner…requires a great deal of devotion. I think that Bill considers me a traitor. He thinks that I'm deserting our family for the X-files."

_The X-files?_ I scramble through memories, trying to find a definition to fit the rather peculiar word. Finally, I recall a conversation that I had with my sister a couple months before Missy's death when she mentioned something called the X-files…and a man called Mulder.

"The X-files…that's what you work on, right?" I ask. She nods in affirmation and I continue. "And your partner—that's that wack-job named Mulder, yeah?"

She stiffens at my words. "You _have_ been talking to Bill!" she exclaims. I nod reluctantly.

"Only a bit," I reply. "He seems to really hate this Mulder guy. Why's that?"

"Mulder and Bill have never quite seen…eye-to-eye," Dana says, looking up at me. "Mulder's quest…his job—my job—has been the cause of a great deal of pain in both of our families over the years since I began working with him. Bill can't forgive him for that. I'm surprised that he forgives me for it, though many days, I'm not sure that he does."

It's my turn to stiffen as I hear the words "great deal of pain" issue forward from her lips. I have a pretty good idea about the things that she's talking about. "Missy?" I whisper.

She nods, and I can tell that she's fighting back tears. "And my cancer and Mulder's sister and his mother and his father. Some days it seems that everything I love will disappear as long as I keep fighting this fight."

I don't ask her what fight she's fighting. Some things I can just tell that she won't want to tell me—there are secrets that I don't want to be privy to. But I reach forward and touch my sister's cheek, brushing away the tears that are leaking down.

I kind of hate this Mulder guy for all he's done to our family, but I can't bring myself to work up the bright, fiery loathing that seems to rage through Bill whenever he speaks the man's name. I can't help but remember that, however much we've lost, he's lost a great deal as well, and that my own sister has had a hand in the misery that has come to our family. And I could never hate my sister, so what's the point in hating this guy?

A knock on the door sends me jerking back to reality. Dana starts, reaching for a gun that I hadn't previously noticed was lying on the sofa by her side. Picking it up, she approaches the door warily—and I'm stunned by how she looks like she knows how to use that weapon. I guess I hadn't really come to grips with the fact that my sister was in a dangerous job, a job where loss of life was occasionally part of the package. And the fact that she couldn't feel safe simply opening a door—that she felt she needed protection to approach the entryway to her own home—really hammered in the fact that Dana wasn't a little girl anymore.

She looks out the peephole and I see her visibly relax. Loosening her grip on the gun, she opens the door with her free hand.

A tall, dark-haired man steps in. "Hey, Scully," he says, smiling down at her. "I knew we both had the night off, so I figured I'd pop around with a couple of movies and some beer. You up for it?"

"Actually, Mulder," I hear my sister say, "I've kind of got company. But you're welcome to join us."

My curiosity at hearing that the man was the elusive and controversial Mulder does not come close to my astonishment at hearing the change in the tone of my sister's voice. All at once she sounds more professional, more intense than she normally does—yet at the same time, she sounds amused, nearly laughing at the man who stood before her. I had rarely hear my sister laugh at anything, and I crane my neck to try to get a better look at the man who has affected such a change in her.

The two of them walk back towards the living room, and I had the chance to be curious yet again as I see the way that the two act around one another. The man—Mulder—has his hand resting comfortably on the small of my sister's back—something that would have resulted in the loss of the offending appendage had anyone else tried it. They look totally at ease around one another, as though they could trust the other with anything. _And they probably have,_ I think to myself.

I feel a brief pang of outrage at this thought. _Dana is my sister! I should be the one that she trusts over everyone else in the entire world._

_But you're also the one she hasn't seen in two years. Crap._

Mulder meets my eyes across the room, and I can tell that he sees me only as another man in the apartment. Something flashes in his eyes and he grimaces painfully, looking as though someone has just punched him in the stomach. The complexity of the expression is difficult to place—what is it? I flip through several possible emotions in my head, but finally settle on the one that fits perfectly.

Jealousy.

The man is in love with my sister. He's probably never done anything outrageous to make it known to her, but he sure as hell is in love with her. I very nearly laugh, but realize just in time that this would be a catastrophic mistake just in time.

"Mulder," Dana begins, "this is my brother, Charlie Scully. Charlie, this is my partner, Special Agent Fox Mulder."

A relieved grin spreads over Mulder's face, and he reaches out and offers me a hand. "Mr. Scully," he says cordially. "I am very pleased to meet you at last."

"As am I, Agent Mulder," I reply, shaking the proffered hand. We both seat ourselves, me back onto the sofa and him into a chair across the coffee table. I glance over at my sister and nearly laugh out loud. She's gazing fondly at the other man, her huge blue eyes soft and filled with an emotion that I've only seen in one other situation—sometimes when our mom looked at Dad.

There's such a fierce love between these two, and I really wonder why no one has said anything about it yet. It can't be that big of a secret—really, the entirety of the FBI must know about it. And it strikes me as odd that two grown people, government agents, will act like teenagers when emotions enter into the game.

_That's the stuff they _really_ need to teach us about in school,_ I think. Then I settle back to enjoy the show.

**Hope you enjoyed it! Please don't egg my house! And above all—please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Alright, this part is more of Charlie's reflections on Scully and Mulder, and on his past. Nothing too deep, nothing to plotty—like there's going to be any plot in this thing. As a matter of fact, this is the end of the story. I don't really think there's enough here to continue with, but it really has been fun working with the characters for however short a time. Not to sound horribly stupid or anything.**

**Disclaimer: Oh, come on. You know it by now. If I were Chris Carter, do you think I'd be writing fan fiction? No. I'd be getting my ass in gear and putting together that second movie that we're all dying to see made.**

I am utterly astounded at the show that these two put on for the world—or for me, at least. They've obviously been through so much together, and it's fairly obvious from the glances that they throw to each other and the slew of inside jokes they share. Mom had hinted at it a little, I remember that much. "Fox Mulder and your sister share a very special bond," she had reprimanded Bill once. He'd just gone off on one of his frequent "I really, really detest and loathe Mulder" rants, and Mom had rushed to the defenseless party's aid. Even if my sister's partner couldn't count my brother as a friend, he had an ally in Mom.

But the show—they seem to not want anyone to know how they feel about each other and what they've shared, platonically or otherwise. It's amazing. I've never seen it's like in my entire life. It is at once both excellent and horrible. It's excellent because at first glance, it just seems like they are two partners who have been working side by side for a prolonged period of time and have therefore become accustomed and attuned to one another's quirks. On the other hand, their act is unbelievably terrible, because anyone who knows either of them to any sort of degree would have to be severely mentally retarded in order to miss the blatant signals that the two send out.

And the signals are blatant. I don't know whether it's because they each want the other to pick up on them and make a move, or because they just don't know, or because they just can't help it. It could be one of those three things, and I'm no psychologist—I'm not exactly qualified to diagnose the strange workings of the human mind.

"So, Charlie, what do you do?" Mulder asks, leaning back in his chair with a beer in his hand. He seems quite at home in my sister's apartment, and I wonder whether or not he has a key. He is certainly more comfortable than I am here, and it's an odd feeling—this complete stranger is closer to Dana than I am.

"I'm in the Navy," I reply, running my finger along the rim of the mug containing my now-cold tea.

"Ah!" the other man exclaims, laughing. "The men in the Scully family seem to have a military bent!"

I nod. "I think it comes from our father," I reply. "Dad pounded it into us at an early age: 'The only job fit for a man is one serving his country.'"

"Well it seems as though one of his daughters picked up on it, too," Mulder says, gesturing towards Dana. She blushes as red as her hair and—sticks her tongue out at him? Wait a minute. My sister does _not_ stick her tongue out at people. Not for the past twenty years or so! What the hell?

I get past my confusion, though, and am able to respond to Mulder's comment. "Yeah, well, Dad wasn't too happy that Dana chose to go serve her country."

"When I told him I was going to give up my career in medicine to join the FBI, I thought he was going to disown me," Dana says, making her first contribution to the conversation in over five minutes.

I remember that day. I was afraid that Dad was going to disown her, too. Mom had just sat back and let it all play out—I guess she understood Dad better than the rest of us, and she knew that nothing was going to happen to Dana where family was concerned, but I was petrified for her. It had been at Thanksgiving, one of the few that I had got off to attend with my family, and in the middle of dinner, Dana had just come out with it.

"I'm leaving med school," she'd said. "I'm going to join the FBI."

She'd gone on to justify it, blathering on and on about how they could use her services, about how medical school was leaving her unsatisfied and how she wanted more in life. I think that Bill was getting ready to blow a vessel in his brain, he was that angry. Dad just looked at her over his plate of turkey, unable to believe what he was hearing. But he slowly turned as deep red as the cranberry sauce on his plate, and I thought he was going to explode.

Melissa immediately rushed to Dana's side in the matter, supporting her through the following confrontation. Those two, growing up together, had bonded in a way that Bill and I never had. Perhaps girls are just more open to friendship than boys are, I don't know, but they always shared something that I could never find with my brother. He was always too much like Dad, too controlling, too angry. It's difficult to include someone like that in your life without trying to kill them.

I drift back to the present to find Mulder looking at me and Dana in amusement. She still has a far-off look on her face, and I figure that we've both been reliving the same unpleasant day in our minds. I cough slightly, and my sister blinks, then refocuses on reality.

"Sorry," she apologizes to the rest of us. "It's…kind of a vivid day."

"I know exactly what you mean," I agree vehemently. Mulder laughs.

"Wow," he says, grinning. "I don't think I've had that kind of family drama in my entire life. You two certainly have more interesting back stories than I do."

My sister shoots him a 'you know that isn't true' look, and I find myself wondering what, exactly, this young man has done to lose his entire family. What was it that Dana had said? His sister and his father and his mother? Jesus. Does he have anyone left?

Well, he seems to have Dana. And it sort of comforts me, in a rather perverse and morbid way, to know that, if Bill and Mom and I were to die tomorrow, Dana would still have someone looking out for her. Someone to love her as much as we do. Perverse and morbid, but hey—it's the idea, the thought that counts.

A silence has fallen over the room as we each sink into our own little worlds. Mulder swigs his beer and stares off into the distance, and my sister traces the pattern on her tea mug and studies the surface of the coffee table. I don't know what either of them are thinking about, but if what Bill and Mom have told me is true, then it's probably got something to do with government conspiracy, or stuff like that. I really, really don't want to get involved. I'll be the first to admit that I'm a simple guy—I enjoy life's pleasures, without all those complications that getting involved in a fight for the truth would probably include.

Mulder clears his throat. "So," he says awkwardly. "Is there a Mrs. Charlie Scully?"

I laugh. "Oh, no. Navy, remember? I'm not in the same place for long enough to visit my own sister, let alone strike up any kind of solid relationship with anyone. And the women onboard my ship are too professional to get involved with one of their coworkers."

Dana and Mulder both flush and seem to be doing their best to avoid looking at one another. Have I misjudged the situation? _Have_ they actually slept together? Again, I'm completely astounded by how utterly complex the relationship between the two of them is. If they _have_ had sex, they probably haven't mentioned it since. Not exactly a healthy way to go about it.

Dana brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Totally unprofessional," she mutters, biting her lip. Mulder seems as though he is attempting to memorize the surface of his beer, a feat that I would deem impossible if attempted by someone of less concentration.

After a bit of an awkward pause (during which I am cursing myself for bringing the subject up even in the most abstract way) my sister clears her throat and looks up at me. "So, Charlie, how long are you in town?"

"Just four days or so," I reply. "Then I'm shipping out again. South America."

"Well, do you have a place to stay?" she wants to know. I shrug.

"I was just going to rent a room in one of the nearby hotels. My stuff's all in the car—I was going to drive over after we'd gotten a chance to talk for a while."

"Well, why don't you stay here?" Dana suggests. "I can make up the couch for you, and you won't be blowing money every night. We'd get some time to catch up some more, too."

"Why not?" I reply. I have no problem rooming with my sister for a few nights. And catching up—what I'd originally came here to do—is really a good idea. I actually have no clue when I'm going to get a chance to visit again, so I figure I'd better do all the talking and listening I can now, since I might not be able to for a while after I leave.

"Hey, great!" Mulder exclaims with an exuberance that I am, quite frankly, surprised to hear. "Scully and I can get a chance to show you around D.C. sometime! You know…Washington Monument, National Archives, Capitol Building, all the museums—the whole shebang."

I'm not really quite sure how I feel about the phrase 'the whole shebang,' but I would like some more time to study the relationship between these two. Not in a weird, stalkerish way, but in a brotherly interested way. My sister is involved, and I'm looking out for her best interests. Besides, I'd really like some more time to be able to form my own opinions on this Mulder guy—without Bill's influence.

So, there's your follow-up. I really don't think that I'll be continuing it, because it's not exciting enough for me to want to continue. To be perfectly frank, if you read the second chapter and got this far, I worship you. And, since you are this far already, it's but a small step to click the lovely lavender button and review. We all know that reviews are like candy—no matter what our parents say, we know that we can never get enough.


	3. Chapter 3

Back by popular demand, it's the adventures of Charlie Scully and his Observations! And folks, this really is the last chapter. Huzzah for definitive endings!

I just want to thank everyone who's been reviewing. Thank you guys! You're great! Support is like sunlight—without it, we'd all whither and die.

**Disclaimer. Alright, fine, yes, I am Chris Carter. I am David Duchovny. I'm Gillian Anderson. I'm EVERYTHING! I OWN EVERYTHING!**

I hope that cleared a few things up for you.

I'm sure that somewhere in the world, there's a bastard who'll tell you that you can learn a lot about someone by seeing how they arrange their kitchen. I'd like to kill that person, if I ever find him or her. You see, I suffer from a terrible affliction, one that is not uncommon to most of the world. In the mornings, I absolutely cannot wake up unless I've got some caffeine in my system.

So I'm stumbling around my sister's kitchen, which, while very small, seems to be as complex and bewildering as, say, the Amazon rain forest. I find everything that I don't need—salt, curry powder, ramen noodles, uncooked chicken breasts, lots and lots of yogurt, and a box of something called "nonfat tofutti rice dreamsicles." But no tea. Or coffee, for that matter. I feel like I'm about to fall asleep standing up or go on a murderous rampage.

The sound of someone running into a kitchen chair draws my attention to the doorway where my sister stands. Her red hair is rumpled and her eyes are half open. "Left hand cabinet, second shelf," she mutters to me, sinking into the chair and clutching her robe about her like a blanket. "And hurry." She rests her head in her hands, in danger of falling asleep, just as I am.

I follow her directions and soon a pot of coffee is bubbling away on her countertop. The smell alone wakes us up a little, and once we've both got a mug of the delicious dark-brown liquid in our hands, we feel up to talking about the day we've got ahead of us.

"So, Mulder'll probably drop by around noon," Dana explains, sipping her coffee. "He's really excited about this tour of DC for some reason I can't understand, but then again, I don't understand anything about that man."

I laugh quietly. _That's a complete lie,_ I think to myself. _She's probably the only person in the world who understands him. Without her, he'd have nothing left. She's got no choice _but_ to understand him._

I don't say any of this, though, because if I do, Dana might take the coffee away, and I'm not sure that I can deal with that loss. So I just chuckle to myself, marveling at how in the world people can be so blind to what's so obvious.

Twenty minutes and two cups later, we go our separate ways. Dana showers and then changes, and I bide my time as I wait for the shower. When she emerges, she looks completely different than she did last night. When I'd shown up at her door, she'd been dressed in a baggy t-shirt and sweat pants, and her hair had been tied back messily. She'd looked like my sister—someone who I was related to, someone who I'd fought over the last bit of the cereal with when we were younger.

Now she looks—well, she looks like she sounded when she was talking with Mulder. Professional. Her hair, while slightly damp, is fashioned very stylishly, and she's wearing an attractive navy blue skirt and top.

"Wow," I say, raising my eyebrows. "Miss FBI."

She sticks her tongue out at me, reminding me that she is still my sister, suit or not, and throws a clean towel at me.

We'd both overslept—woken up at about 10:30—so when I get out of the bathroom, clean and changed, Mulder is already sitting on the sofa in the living room, looking through some papers that he'd brought with him. Dana is sitting next to him, and they're sharing opinions. Or rather, one of them offers their opinion and the other shoots it down.

"Mulder, the man was hit by a bus," my sister is saying helplessly. "He was a very depressed person, his family has told investigators this. There is no x-file to investigate!"

Her partner gives her a grin. "But witnesses describe some very strange behavior displayed by the victim just before he jumped in front of the bus. Behavior that is characteristic of mind control."

"Please don't tell me that it's Pusher all over again," Dana says, sinking back into the couch.

I clear my throat, getting their attention. Both agents turn to see me standing in the doorway to the bathroom. "Hey, Charlie," Mulder says, standing. Dana stands as well, flashing her partner a Look that says that their discussion about the case is _not_ over.

"Shall we?" I ask, gesturing towards the door. Dana picks up her purse and we all walk out the door.

In deference to the complete and total lack of parking that is part of all DC summers, we take the Metro downtown. Waiting in the station, I find myself watching my sister and her partner again. They behave differently, here in the light of day, than they had last night in Dana's apartment. It's almost as though they're afraid someone will see their fierce attraction to one another and do something to separate them. And I get the feeling that separation would be each agent's worst nightmare.

The subway arrives, and I catch Mulder placing his hand on my sister's back to guide her onboard. I smile. No matter how great their fear, nothing can suppress or disguise their love. It's rather hilarious, actually.

The ride is not long, and it's pleasant. I find this man friendly and easy to talk to. Really, I think that the only reason that Bill hates him is that Mulder is just the easiest person to blame for the losses our family has suffered. I shake my head. Bill has never had the strength of character that my sister has displayed—or my mother, for that matter.

We arrive at Metro Center and then we have to switch lines to take us to the Smithsonian stop. Making our way through the crowded, dark underground station, we arrive at the next platform with only a brief stop for Mulder to consult a map to get his bearings.

Finally we are stepping out into the fierce DC summer sun. The humidity hits me like a hammer over the head, and I'm reminded of why I don't like coming here in the summer months. It's too much like a sauna.

The Mall stretches before us, all green grass and hurrying tourists. There are very few business people or DC natives here, and I feel the familiar shame of being a tourist and not belonging. But at least I'm here with two people who know where they're going—at least I won't have to carry around the dreaded Map.

It's the beginning of a lot of traipsing around Capitol Hill and the Mall. I feel like my feet are about to fall off, but it's worth it. Quality time with my sister is not something I get a lot of, and I'll take whatever I can get. And if I end the day with no feet—well then, so be it.

At about 8:30, we find ourselves at the Tidal basin. Mulder and Dana are sitting on the edge of the concrete wall that lines it, talking. I've excused myself to buy hot dogs and sodas from a nearby vendor. As I wander back to my two guides, I notice something about them that makes me want to drop everything and roll about on the ground laughing.

They're holding hands.

I'm really not sure whether or not they even realize that they're doing it, but as they stare off into the sunset, their fingers entwine and hold. My sister is leaning slightly on her partner's shoulder—not for comfort or for protection, but simply because she wants to. Mulder's head turns, and he looks down at my sister. His lips curve up in a soft smile, and I bet that, if I was close enough, his eyes would be filled with a light that rivals that of the setting sun. His free hand reaches over and brushes strands of hair out of Dana's eyes, and she grins at him. In my mind, I realize that I will always see them like that. They're like two parts of a whole. They're the yin and the yang, locked together and impossible to separate. They belong together, there's no debating that.

Then Dana glances at me and suddenly they've separated, sitting with a respectable eight inches between them. It's as if their moment of intimacy never happened. I want to shake them and shout "It's so obvious! Stop trying to hide from love! It's going to find you no matter what you do!"

But perhaps I don't understand the big picture. I get the feeling that what these two are fighting for is bigger than just the happiness of two people. Maybe to be together would be to admit a weakness, a weakness that neither of them can afford to have.

I have faith, though. One day, once their demons have fled for the hills, they'll be able to face the truth.

So there you go. Charlie Scully, everyone! Isn't he great? Why don't you show appreciation by reviewing? It would make so, so many people happy.


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